Keep You Safe
by grumkinsnark
Summary: "As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you."


Response to a comment fic meme prompt that doubles as this story's summary. (Yes, another one. Deal with it.)

Additionally, I guesstimated Damon and Stefan's age difference. I don't believe they've said it in the show, and I've never read the books, so…artistic license if it's totally wrong.

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**Keep You Safe

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Damon never made it much of a point to fear for his brother's safety—simply because he knew he'd always be there to prevent such a situation from happening in the first place. He went to war so Stefan wouldn't have to (_even now, the thought of his little brother facing down the horrors he had…_). He ditched war because he didn't know if there would be equal threat back home, and that was just a risk he couldn't take. He compromised sharing Katherine with Stefan so his brother wouldn't endure complete heartbreak. He repeatedly said he hated his brother solely so that Stefan wouldn't feel the same need to protect him as he feels the need to protect Stefan.

He's never had much fear for his brother's safety. At least, not until one particularly shitty afternoon when Stefan went to search out cutesy rabbits and didn't come back.

To Elena, he'd simply reported that he called Stefan's phone a few times. To Elena, he lied. But then, he wasn't exactly inclined to tell her that he'd ransacked the house and ravaged the forest (just in case, you know, he'd _misplaced_ Stefan or something; shut up, it was better than the alternative), had half a mind to slaughter each and every townsperson until he found him. He felt that'd put a black mark on the "Unadulterated Badass" label he's perfected for himself.

He also didn't tell her that for a full hour before he came over, he was collapsed against the staircase, his head on his knees, waves and waves of dread and self-loathing pouring through him.

_As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you,_ he said once long, long ago when Stefan was young and scraped his knee. He said it, and Stefan believed him, and "bad" took on the connotation of "Anything that Damon can't hurt; and Damon can hurt anything, so take _that_."

He didn't tell her that for that entire hour, he muttered the phrase under his breath, going near insane with the thoughts of what Stefan could be going through while he did jackshit, while he _let his brother get fucking abducted_.

When they finally managed to piece together Stefan's rescue—he still has no idea how it didn't end up a bloodbath—he said close to nothing to his brother; just rescue and snark. Primarily (make that _only_) because he was afraid if he slowed down, he'd end up wanting to chain Stefan up to make sure nothing else awful happened to him. Say something like, _Fuck it, Stefan, I made you a promise back then, and I let it get broken. It won't happen twice, hear me? If that means keeping you on lockdown for the rest of eternity, you bet your ass I'll do it._

Of course, later he finds out it's just as well he didn't say that, for the exact same thing happens barely a week later. This time in the form of bloodlust, but to Damon, Bad is Bad. He doesn't give a shit about the extenuating circumstances, because all he sees is _Stefan's not right. He's hurting, even if he doesn't realize it. I failed._

If there's one thing Damon Salvatore doesn't do, it's failure. And yet, well. All evidence to the contrary. He'd had to resort to asking his brother's _human_ girlfriend to shoot him full of vervain, just so he could throw him in a grungy cell, detox him the hard way. What a great older brother he is.

Speaking of…

A few hours back, Elena fell asleep on the couch in front of the fire, faint tear tracks marring her face because she's sleep-deprived and upset over Stefan and conflicted and every other human emotion in the book, and Damon finally took pity and crushed a few NyQuil in the tea she insisted on making. (When Stefan's better—_when_, not _if_, mark his words—he plans on having a long conversation with him; much like failure, Damon Salvatore _does not do tea_.)

No…more than that, he wanted her out of the way but without, you know, killing her.

He walks down slowly to the boardinghouse basement, to the effectual jail cell in which they'd stowed his brother. He clenches his hands around the bars so tightly the metal creaks, looking, staring, into the dingy room. At not so much his brother, but his utter fucking _failure_.

He unwillingly thinks back to when he was ten and Stefan was four, and that first time he made Stefan the promise, and how Stefan asked, _But Damon, you can't be here _forever_. We're not going to be _those_ brothers that hang out until they're old and gross_, and Damon replied, _Like hell_, and Stefan called for their parents, because back then, "hell" was like going to the Vatican and shouting that you're taking up Satanism.

He's now twenty-three (_a hundred and sixty-nine_) and Stefan's now seventeen (_a hundred and sixty-three_), but to him, Stefan might as well be the same—vampirism, significantly increased muscle mass, and lack of virginity aside. The same child who claimed that they wouldn't be "those brothers," but who always hero-worshipped his.

Fully aware he could be signing his death sentence, Damon unlocks the cell, stepping inside and pulling the door closed behind him. He's not quite sure how out of it Stefan is, just that his eyes are shut tight, there's sweat pouring off him in rivulets and he's shaking the slightest bit as if in fever, but nevertheless, Damon sits on the edge of the makeshift bed, just studying Stefan, wondering how the hell he'd screwed up so badly.

"None of this was supposed to happen," Damon inadvertently murmurs, running his fingers roughly through his hair. "God, everything's just so _fucked_. I made a promise, and…"

He sighs, his self-preservation beginning to rise up and declare that he's being a pansy for saying this and for coming into the cell in the first place. Before he completely succumbs to that pride, however, he puts a hand on Stefan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, brother," he says (maybe just mouths, he can't tell).

With heavy feet, he walks out again, closing the door with a clang and hating himself. _As long as I'm around…_

He turns to head up the stairs, but comes face to face with Elena. Her gaze is a little too focused on him, like it's taking all she has to fight against the acetaminophen and antihistamine while simultaneously attempting to read Damon's expression, and he curses himself for miscalculating the dosage.

She says nothing, just stands there looking at him, and he finally rolls his eyes and growls, "What?"

"Nothing," she replies after a moment. "You just…never mind."

She doesn't comment about the NyQuil debacle, just elects to take another shift of watching over Stefan, and if she looks at Damon differently in the coming days, a little less _How can you hate your brother so goddamn much?_ and a little more understanding—sympathy, even—no one mentions it.

Stefan more or less returns to normal a few days later, with no recollection of Damon coming in, and things return to the way they were. And, like Elena, if he notices Damon being a bit more snappish when it comes to Stefan going out anywhere, he decides to let it slide.

Because, as he'd found out many, many years ago, Damon's all too transparent when it comes to his little brother.


End file.
